Pulled strands of golden toffee,
aloof light in branches caught.
Sun's rays dwindling majesty
touches tips in sparkling frost.
Passing shiver sparks profanity,
December's vow warms us not.
Chilling nearer home's chimney,
Ol' Sol withdraws by two o'clock.
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Snow
PuisiFrom my home on a tiny island, I smell snow as it begins to fall on the mountains across Baynes Sound. A smell that goes directly up your nostrils with a slight hint of metal or ozone, a bit like refrigerant. And of course I love to confirm my sense...
